Out Of Her League (18 page)

As planned, they left the following morning as the sun started to peek over the tops of the coastal mountains in the distance, entering the States at the Peace Arch border crossing and soon picking up the I5 for Portland. Even though they were in a rented car and leaving the country, she couldn't help sneaking glances into the side mirror to make sure they weren't being followed. After her third peek, Rayne reached over and squeezed her shoulder, kneading the tight muscles.

“Our tail is clear, darlin', so you can relax,” he assured her with a note of amusement. “You'll get a kink in your neck that way.”

Her face went beet red. She should have known he was taking precautions. “Sorry. I didn't think I was being that obvious.”

He didn't seem offended. “The chances of him crossing the border are pretty much nil, unless he's a master of disguise with a fake passport— ”

She cast him a worried look.

“— which isn't likely, so I'd say we've got a better chance of being hit by lightning than running into him.”

Now
that
was more along the lines of what she wanted to hear. Her muscles eased and she let out a breath of relief before turning her attention to the gorgeous man whisking her away to a beachfront cottage. There was something indefinably masculine about the way he drove, so confident, shifting so smoothly she could barely feel the transition. The confidence and charisma he exuded was a definite female magnet. He could be driving a tricycle with a rubber horn on it and women would still find him sexy. She must be insane for going ahead with this whole plan, not that she'd had much choice. And why the hell did she have to analyze everything all the time?

Jake came up behind her to rest his furry muzzle on her shoulder and she reached back to scratch under his chin. The vet had confirmed that his injuries had been superficial and okayed him to come along on the trip. Her rush of joy and relief had been tempered by a surge of loathing for the lowlife who had hurt him, the stalker who was shattering her life. Spending a few days away suddenly didn't seem so insane.

At Portland they exited the I5 and headed toward the coast, passing rolling farmland, vineyards and forest before the sign appeared welcoming them to Lincoln City. Rayne cruised past the shops and motels lining the main drag until the ocean came into view, taking her breath away. Sparkles of sunlight crested the waves breaking against an endless expanse of sand. They turned toward the water and pulled into the driveway of a white clapboard bungalow with a cherry red door and shutters, its front steps adorned with scarlet geraniums spilling from matching cobalt pots.

“Here it is,” he told her with a smile, and got out to unload their luggage.

Christa let Jake out of the car and followed Rayne up to the red front door. “It's pretty,” she said, liking it already.

“Wait ‘til you see the view from the living room.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping into the cream-tiled hallway. The house smelled a little musty, but it looked clean enough. In the second room on the left he set her bag down and she peered past him to the double bed covered with a green and blue pieced quilt. “I'm next door and the bathroom's right across the hall.” He dropped his own bag into his room and led her through a yellow and white kitchen into the front room, painted a crisp white and lined with bookshelves. A bowl of seashells sat on the white crackled coffee tabletop. “I saved the best part for last.”

The rush of the ocean greeted her as she stepped toward the bank of picture windows overlooking the green-gray waves. “Wow. I could stare at this all day.”

“Be my guest. I could never get tired of that view.”

She believed it, listening to the hypnotic rhythm. “Jake's going to love walking along there.”

“We can go out after we eat, if you want. We might bump into Bryn. She lives down the beach, and I've spent practically every summer with her since I started coming down here with Nate's family.” Affection warmed his voice.

Oh, great. She would wind up staying here all by herself while Rayne went off and did whatever it was he did with Bryn. Only his presence was keeping her from reliving the nightmare. “You could take me to pick up groceries and stop by to see her. I'll come back here and make us some dinner.”

He slipped his arms around her, making her wonder if he even realized what he was doing. “No way. I'm taking you out for seafood and then we'll go for a stroll. All that fresh, salty air will have us both sleeping like babies tonight.”

She doubted that, but kept it to herself.

After stocking up with groceries they drove to a seafood joint perched on the end of a pier and dined on halibut and steamed veggies, admiring the blue-green rollers thundering against the craggy black cliff jutting into the ocean like an outstretched finger. They crashed against the tumbled rocks at the bottom and spewed up geysers of white foam tinted by the sun's golden-orange rays. When she turned her head, she noticed people staring at her bruised face and she couldn't look any of them in the eye, hoping no one thought Rayne was responsible. She stayed close to him, his eyes alert.

Safely back at the cottage, he built a bonfire on the beach, gathering roasting sticks for their marshmallows. Christa sat across the red-hot coals from him, her head resting on a driftwood log. Enjoying the warmth of the flames on her face, she absorbed the sky's transformation from tangerine to crimson and purple, hypnotized by the muted thunder of the ocean. Smoke mingled with the smell of the sea, taking her back to happy childhood memories of seaside hikes with Michael.

“Pretty nice, huh.” Rayne raised his beer bottle in salute. “Nate first invited me down here with his family the year I turned fourteen. I got to be too much for my mom to handle so she was happy enough to send me here with Nate until I moved in with him. And I've managed to come back every year since. I love it.”

“I can see why.” The beating waves could lull her to sleep.

Tearing her gaze from a couple holding hands and sharing secretive smiles as they strolled along the foaming surf, she noticed a lone figure materializing out of the mist, heading toward them. The trim curves of the silhouette left no doubt it was a woman.

Rayne followed her gaze and jumped up from the campfire with a grin. “Hey!” he called, heading toward her, leaving Christa behind.

Something squeezed in her chest as he wrapped the newcomer in his arms, lifting her off the ground and swinging her around in an exuberant circle. Then he draped a possessive arm around her and they started back toward the fire.

“Chris, look who found me. Bryn.”

Bryn's clear, dusky skin was made for firelight, as was the cloud of ebony hair streaming down her back and her obsidian eyes. “Hi.” Christa held out her hand.

Bryn shook it firmly. “Good to meet you.” She made herself comfortable, helping herself to a beer and leaning against Rayne. As they reminisced, Christa couldn't help envying their mutual affection and the easy camaraderie between them. And, to be truthful, they looked
good
together, like a beautiful couple you'd see on the cover of a magazine. For lack of something better to do, she skewered another marshmallow and toasted it, consumed it and several others, just to keep her hands busy. Despite Rayne's efforts to include her in their conversation, she had no shared past with them and waited until the next pause in their conversation before getting to her feet.

“I'm beat, and I ate too many marshmallows.” She made a sickly expression. “Nice to meet you, Bryn.”

Rayne jumped up, caught her arm. “You okay? You want me to walk you back?”

“No need, it's only a few yards.

He frowned. “Okay, kiddo. I won't be long.”

She waved away his concern. “I'm fine, take your time.”

She headed to the cottage alone, feeling colder with each step, and not just because she'd left the heat of the fire behind.

He watched her retreating figure until she was safely inside, her shapely silhouette moving down the hallway.

“Your friend's pretty shy,” Bryn remarked. “Been seeing her long?”

“Christa? We're not seeing each other.” Not technically, anyway.

“So what's she doing here, then?”

He took a sip of beer, wondering if he should go and make sure she was safe. Boy, she'd taken off in a hurry. “She needed a vacation.”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

Bryn drained her beer and reached for a marshmallow. “Was she in a car accident or something? Either that or somebody's been using her as a punching bag.”

His eyes snapped to hers. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Ah. So she's not your latest fling?”

“No,” he said emphatically, jaw tensing. Did everyone think he used women like that?

“What happened to her?”

His hands fidgeted with the bottle. “She was beaten and nearly raped by a stalker who hasn't been caught yet.”

“Jesus. She okay?”

“No.” And it damn near killed him to feel so helpless about it.

“Oh.” She put her arm around him in silent comfort.

“I want to kill that son-of-a-bitch, Bryn. I want to kill him slowly, with my bare hands.” She rubbed his back and he welcomed the contact. “She's the sweetest, kindest, bravest person I've ever known.”

“Wow. That's saying a lot, coming from you.”

“And she's so vulnerable, and too trusting for her own goddamn good. It pisses me off that some asshole could do this to her.”

“So you've got to help her.”

“I only wish I could.”

She rested her forehead against his, so that their noses were almost touching. “You will,” she said simply. “I have yet to see Rayne Hutchinson fail at anything he sets his mind to, especially when it comes to a woman.”

Together they watched the fire shimmer and crackle against the night sky.

Face down on her bed, she steeled herself against him, writhing to free her hands, the rope burning, chafing the insides of her wrists and ankles. His chilling gray eyes gleamed down at her, evil and hungry. And always his voice haunted her, husky, rasping in her ear, making her quake.

He lifted the knife to the side of her throat. “No one's coming to save you this time.”

The blade glinted in the moonlight streaming through the window. She shrank from it, whimpering, the dull side scraping against her cringing flesh as he slashed through her nightgown. She flailed, screamed, begged for mercy, but he had none.

“I can hurt you in so many ways,” he breathed, “and your boyfriend's even bigger than me. Imagine the damage a guy his size could do.”

She cried out. Rayne would never hurt her, never demoralize or terrorize her.

“You wouldn't have a chance against him.”

He tried to force himself inside her. At the realization of his impotence he started screaming obscenities, pounding her head, her back. She tried to buck him off, eliciting a guttural snarl. His fang-like teeth punctured the skin of her shoulder, making her scream.

She jerked awake covered in sweat, heart thudding, breath sawing in and out of her starved lungs. She sat up and flipped on the bedside lamp with trembling fingers, gulping in air.

You're in Oregon with Rayne. You're safe.

She sat there numbly until Jake came and propped his chin on her legs in silent comfort. She went and peered out the bedroom window, scanning the yard for movement, but saw nothing, heard nothing except her own ragged breathing and the muted roar of the ocean.

Rayne was right next door, on the other side of the wall. Maybe she should just go to him.

No. She didn't want him to see how bad things had gotten. Time to suck it up, just like she had always done. Her lungs pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, let it out slowly.

You're an adult, not a frightened little girl. Deal with it.

The sharp words slapped some calm into her.

When she finally felt safe enough to crawl between the sheets and pull the covers up to her chin, she stared at the lamp beside her, somewhat reassured by its warm glow chasing the shadows into the corners and holding them there, keeping evil at bay. For the first time in years, she went to sleep with the light on.

Sliding into a fitful slumber, she heard Seth's voice whispering in her ear, saw him raise that wicked, gleaming blade. She woke with a scream trapped in her throat.

He was on his freaking vacation and he couldn't get one decent night's sleep. Rayne thumped his pillow, sick of tossing restlessly. He couldn't seem to shut his brain off. He imagined Christa stretched out on the bed in the next room, wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts, her hair spread across her pillow, how she would curl into him if he slipped in beside her. The images filtered through his head, torturing him. It made him sick with rage to think of anyone hurting anything so beautiful. And she
was
beautiful, inside and out.

He lay there staring at the ceiling when a sound came from her room. A glance at the clock told him she should have been sleeping soundly for hours now. He got up and was standing in his open doorway listening, debating whether he should go in and make sure she was okay when she padded into the hallway.

“Hey, kiddo.”

She jumped.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. “You all right?”

Her hand was pressed over her heart. “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't. I couldn't sleep either.”

She sighed, touching her fingertips to her temples. “I need some aspirin.”

Her eyes were swollen from crying, reddened and underlined by dark circles. He went to take her by the shoulders and her gaze dropped to her bare feet.

“Do you want to talk? It might help.”

She hesitated. “I dreamt part of it over again. Twice.” She shuddered. “I can't talk about it yet. Sorry.”

He led her into the kitchen, found some Tylenol and poured her a glass of juice. Her hands fidgeted with the glass, the scraping on the countertop the only sound. “This might sound crazy to you,” she said slowly, “but I can't seem to feel clean anymore. Even with all the scalding hot showers and anti-bacterial soap.”